by L. Langdon
As Gerri luxuriated under Sven’s hands, it occurred to her that she should say something about the business of the day. “I set our course a few degrees to the starboard. We’re well out from the point and the chart doesn’t show any reefs, so I thought we could begin to turn around it.”
“Hmmm.” Sven had noticed. He had detected the difference in the motion of the boat. In fact, this was the main reason that he had left the galley. “But don’t change any further. In weather like this, we can’t make a curved path around the point. We want to stay out of the trough at all costs. Instead of our path being a circular arc, we want it to be two straight lines with a sharp angle where we turn.” He gestured with his hands.
Gerri considered that. The ‘trough’ was the dreaded configuration where the waves hit the boat directly from the side. It caused the boat to roll violently—or even capsize, if the waves were large enough. She had learned a lot about seamanship but, she realized, there was much left to learn. She nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that.” She looked for a way to change the subject. “Did you finish with the stove?”
Sven grunted. “No. I think the fuel line is fouled. Must have been some dirt in the tank and the rocking of the boat stirred it up. I’ll go back now and clear it out. I was hoping to avoid that ‘cause it’s so cramped behind the stove.”
“Do you want me to do it? I’m smaller.”
He paused. He had had a second reason for coming up to the pilot house to check on her. One that he didn’t want to tell her about. One of the things that had delighted him thus far about Gerri’s adaptation to boating was her freedom from seasickness. She had felt queasy only once, when they had been out on the ocean on a fairly windy day. Sven had made sure that she was kept busy and that she stayed in the fresh air, and her queasiness eventually dissipated.
He was under no illusion that she could control motion sickness, or that he could control it for her. But the fonder of her that he got, the more he wanted everything to be perfect for her during her ‘adventure.’ He wished that he had picked up some medicine, just to keep on hand, for today’s storm would be the toughest test by far.
In the long run, most people’s bodies grew accustomed to the motion. But not everybody—and the adjustment process could be miserable. He remembered a friend who had loved boating until he experienced his first really rough weather. He never again wanted to set foot on a boat.
Without the medicine, Sven had only a few heuristics that he thought helped: keep your mind off your queasiness and stay in as much fresh air as possible. In keeping with this, he didn’t want Gerri to be crawling around amidst the oil fumes behind the stove.
Finally, he gave the only excuse he could think of. “No, it’s dirty back there. I’d rather be the one to get filthy.” It was awkward because her idea made a lot of sense, and if he told her his real reasons, she would insist on trying anyway. To forestall an argument, he added, “Let me go back to the galley and get this over with.” He patted her on the shoulder and returned to his stove repairs.
As he settled in behind the stove, he thought again—Gerri was turning into an excellent crew member. No, she was already an excellent crew member. Sven couldn’t think of anyone else of her experience that he would entrust the Glacier Gal to in this weather, even though he was trying to keep a close eye on her.
But that was the one thing about her that he found troubling. Her strength was potentially her weakness. She showed a lot of initiative. Sometimes too much. Her change of the boat’s heading just now was not serious; she would have realized it quickly if she had turned further and the motion of the boat had become too violent. But the outcomes of her well-meaning decisions weren’t always so benign. She could have gotten seriously hurt, for example, when she tried to fend off that piling in the boat harbor.
He needed to talk to her about this. The Alaskan wilderness was full of things which could kill a person and Gerri didn’t yet appreciate that. He should have talked to her already, and to his disgust, he knew exactly why he had been putting it off—he treasured their affectionate relationship, and he was reluctant to appear as a disciplinarian. There’s no fool like an old fool.
Even that description—affectionate relationship—was an evasion. She was driving him nuts. He was constantly looking for excuses to touch her—and heaven knows, he wanted more than a touch. But he wouldn’t violate her trust. She was just a kid. Besides, he was her boss and he refused to take advantage of that relationship. And he was still replaying that kiss in his mind. He wondered, not for the first time, how he would have reacted if there had been someone like Gerri when he was in high school. Would he have had the sense to resist Laura’s blandishments then? He thought so, but he was honest enough to have some doubts.
He was older and wiser now. Gerri was the kind of girl—or make that the kind of woman, as the libbers would remind him—that any guy would be lucky to have. Not that it mattered. She would be going back to South Carolina soon and she would undoubtedly do better than some old fisherman. He sighed and reached behind the stove.
As Sven left the pilot house, Gerri briefly glared at his retreating back. It was his boat and he could do what he wanted. But, really. ‘I don’t want you to get dirty’ was such a dumb excuse. What did he think she got every day while baiting hooks or hauling fish off the lines?
The thing that really bothered her was that she was coming to revel in their partnership—she loved the feeling of working smoothly with a man whose company she enjoyed. A man whom she admired. A man whom she found attractive—too attractive. This aspect of her summer had been an education. She now knew what she wanted to look for in a husband—and knew that Thurman would never have been right for her.
Sven, of course, was unattainable. He would never want to live in South Carolina. Nor would that be viable for Gerri. An interracial relationship would, at best, be a source of constant whispers, and at worst, a source of constant harassment. Better to be realistic—her attraction to Sven was just one more part of what was turning into a most wonderful adventure.
While Gerri was thinking about this, she still had to concentrate on guiding the boat. That was almost a full-time task, as the storm seemed to be getting worse. She could hear the howling of the wind, punctuated by the crashing of the waves over the bow. Suddenly, she became aware of another sound added to the mix. It took her a minute, but she finally realized that something was loose; rolling around on the deck.
Leaving the wheel for just a moment, she cracked open the side door of the pilot house and leaned out. At first, she saw nothing. Then it rolled into view. Sven had several five gallon buckets, originally containing paint, which he had cleaned out and used to store odds and ends. One of those had come loose from its fastenings. Its top was closed tightly, so at least whatever was in it wouldn’t spill out. She was tempted to let it roll around, but the bucket could damage something as it tumbled around the deck. Or if it went overboard, Sven would have to replace its contents, and some of the tools he kept in these buckets were expensive.
Gerri came back inside and checked her heading as she tried to decide what to do. She craned her neck to look back at Sven. He was sprawled on the floor of the galley with his head and shoulders behind the stove. She really didn’t want to bother him every time some little issue came up. But she knew that the boat wouldn’t steer itself in this weather. The waves and the wind would push the bow to the right—to starboard.
But she had an idea. If she changed the heading to the left to compensate for that, it would buy her a few seconds. Then, if she was very fast… She stuck her head outside again. I can do this. She visualized it—step out onto the deck, take three quick steps and grab the bucket. She would simply bring it inside the pilot house—she certainly didn’t want to take the extra time to fasten it on deck in the storm. She could almost imagine explaining her reasoning proudly to Sven over dinner and Sven nodding his approval and smiling.
She shook her head to clear those silly thoughts awa
y. Time to get this done. After steering the boat left a few degrees, she took a deep breath and opened the door. One quick glance around, and then she stepped outside. The wind caught her instantly and she shivered. One more reason to do this quickly—she wasn’t dressed for this weather.
Quickly she reached the bucket and bent over to grab it. Just then the boat lurched and the bucket skittered out of her reach. With a grunt of disgust, she caught up to it and reached for it again. As she did so, she heard a crashing sound behind her. She turned around to see what it was and her jaw dropped. The largest wave that she’d ever seen was crashing over the bow and surging toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the wave hit her and knocked her backwards before she could get a sound out. It picked her up effortlessly and carried her to the side of the boat. She tried to grab a railing, but the wave was too powerful. She briefly registered the scrape of her calves against the gunwale and then she was overboard—submerged in the frigid ocean—with the Glacier Gal steadily pulling away from her.
Chapter 20
Sven bit back an oath as a particularly abrupt roll of the boat pushed him against the stove. Why am I doing this now—in this weather? But he knew exactly why, and it was a lousy reason. He wanted to be able to relax with Gerri in the galley after they anchored. They were both tired, but he knew that Gerri would insist on cooking before she would relax. He wanted to have the stove ready so that her day wouldn’t be any longer than it had to be.
But that wasn’t necessary. They could grab sandwiches, wolf them down, fall into their respective bunks, and get some overdue rest. But that would eliminate the togetherness that he was looking forward to. So here he was, fooling with the stove during the worst storm of the season—and leaving Gerri to handle the boat alone.
Another roll of the boat—the worst yet—caused his wrench to slide out of his reach. Screw it! He’d do the stove later; he should be with Gerri in the pilot house now. He started sliding out from behind the stove.
Walking was difficult. Sven braced himself against the wall as he hurried through the short passageway from the galley to the pilot house. He couldn’t see Gerri from his angle, but he saw a giant wave crash across the front deck as the Glacier Gal buried its bow in the water and felt the boat shudder as the bow fought its way back up. He sped up; Gerri’s training didn’t cover anything like this.
As he stepped into the pilot house, he stopped, astonished. Gerri was not there. Almost automatically, he checked the heading, and then looked around. The door to the side deck was ajar. Now why the hell would she go outside? She must have had some reason—some notion that something needed fixing. Now he was starting to get scared.
He stuck his head out and looked around, ducking back briefly as another wave swept across the deck. She was nowhere to be seen. She wouldn’t have gone to the back deck—if she’d wanted to do that, she would have come through the galley. Panic started clutching at his gut. There was only one place she could be—overboard!
He jerked back inside. There was a little voice moaning in the back of his brain: Not Gerri! I can’t lose Gerri! He willed himself to ignore the voice, and his hands flowed over the controls by instinct. Within seconds, he had cut the power to just above idle, spun the wheel hard over to turn back in the direction from which they’d come, and turned on all of the outside flood lights. He heard something crash in the galley as the boat rolled heavily in the trough, but he ignored it; that was unimportant now. He quickly grabbed a portable spotlight and stepped out on deck, leaving the boat to wallow in its new heading.
He knew that he had to find Gerri fast, before she succumbed to hypothermia. But he had no way of knowing how long ago she had gone over. He tried to calculate, but it was hard to think straight. He couldn’t have left her more than two minutes ago—maybe three. But still, even at its reduced speed, the boat had been making perhaps eight or nine feet per second. That meant that she could be hundreds of feet away—maybe up to a quarter mile.
Sven played the spotlight around, but all he saw in the approaching darkness was the occasional glint of a whitecap. The raw wind tore at his shirtsleeves, but he didn’t even feel it. The cold that he felt was deeper—in his heart. He tried to fight the sense of hopelessness. I won’t give up, no matter what. If I have to search until I run out of fuel… If I have to search all night…
___
Gerri surfaced and shook her head to clear her eyes. She could see the boat when she was on the top of a wave, but it seemed distant. When she was in the trough between two waves, she couldn’t see anything. She tried to figure out what to do. While she treaded water, she slowly turned. She couldn’t see anything but the wind-whipped waves. She looked again for the Glacier Gal. It seemed to be even further away.
Now that the initial shock was wearing off, she was starting to feel cold. Very cold. Sven had mentioned the dangers of hypothermia, but Gerri didn’t remember what he had said about the symptoms. She did remember his saying that a person would last only a few minutes in this cold water. And she realized with a sinking heart that Sven probably didn’t even know that she was overboard.
She refused to give up. She thought about her family that she so longed to see again. She thought about Sven… But what to do? She could never catch the boat. Could she reach shore? Not likely. She remembered from checking the chart in the pilot house that it was about a half mile away. She didn’t know whether she could swim that far even on a good day. And she could already feel her muscles stiffening in the cold—it was getting hard to even tread water.
Gerri looked around. The Glacier Gal was almost invisible—she could just see the light on the mast from the top of a wave. She turned again toward where the shore should be. The tree line was now visible—barely—through the low clouds. Then she noticed, incongruously, that the bucket was bobbing in the water about ten yards away. She had thought that it would sink, but evidently—after all of her trouble—Sven didn’t have enough in it to make it sink. And, just as important, he had sealed the top of the bucket tightly.
But if it was floating, then she could use it as a makeshift life ring. She was too chilled to get excited. In fact she was fighting the urge to simply relax and let go, but she forced herself to swim toward the bucket. At first, she wasn’t making any progress. If I can’t even swim ten yards, how can I expect to reach the shore? Then she realized that the wind was blowing the bucket away from her. I can do this—just a few strong strokes. She thought of her family again. She thought of her brother Rich’s teaching her to swim in a creek near their farm. At the time, she complained incessantly about her hair, but now she was thankful that Rich had persevered. She thought again of Sven and how she wanted to get to know him better. Somehow, she used these thoughts to find a burst of strength and reach the bucket.
When she finally reached it, she barely had the strength to grab it and hang on. But how could she get to shore? She decided to start kicking, but she couldn’t make her legs follow her orders. When she was on top of the next wave, she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye.
The Glacier Gal had turned and was heading back this way, lit up like a Christmas tree. She felt a faint surge of hope as she watched. Maybe Sven would see her here. Then she realized that the boat wasn’t heading precisely toward her. It would pass her about fifty yards away. Could he see her from such a distance? It would be hard. If only she had a light.
The boat was moving slowly, and she saw Sven on deck playing a spotlight over the surface of the water, but while she watched, he moved out of sight to check the other side. In a few minutes, the boat would be abreast of her. But she would be just a speck in the ocean, visible only when she was at the height of a wave. Could she shout? She barely had the strength to breathe, and she knew she couldn’t be heard over the wind and waves.
Now he was back on her side of the boat. The spotlight passed over her briefly and then moved on. Gerri had an idea, borne of desperation. The bottom of the bucket was shiny metal. Maybe if she could orient it
just right…
Sven played the spotlight ceaselessly. The boat should, he calculated, be close to where she went overboard, but he didn’t see anything. Of course, if she started swimming for shore. No, he didn’t think she would do that. On the other hand, if she had sunk… He stifled that thought. One more sweep of the spotlight and he would go back to check the other side.
There! Was that a flash of light in the beam of his light? He looked again and saw nothing but the dark water. He sighed at his brief, false hope.
Wait! He saw the flash again. There was something bright out there in the water. It was one of his jury-rigged containers, facing just right to reflect his light. He squinted and saw Gerri clinging to the bucket! A great flood of relief washed over him. Thank heavens. But they weren’t out of the woods yet—or the water, as he thought in his new, giddy mood.
He waved and shouted. “Hang on, Gerri. I’ll be there in a minute.” He thought he saw her hand move in a weak acknowledgement.
It took only a moment for Sven to maneuver the boat close to Gerri, but it seemed like forever. Her arms wanted to let go, but she clung tightly to the bucket. When he was just a few feet away, he tossed a coiled line which practically slapped her in the face.
“Grab it and pull yourself to the boat.”
“I don’t think I have the strength. My muscles won’t work right.” She was afraid to let go of the bucket.
He frowned in concern—that was a classic symptom of hypothermia. “Then just wrap the line around your wrists and hold it as best you can. I’ll pull you in.”
Finally—gloriously—she was within reach and Sven grabbed her hand. “Let go of the bucket and I’ll pull you aboard.”